Chapter 1: The Girl Who Wasn't Written

I came into this story too early. The air was sharp with spring, and I could smell the faint sweetness of new grass as I stepped into this world, wondering if I was even supposed to be here yet.

So early, in fact, that before he ever met her, he met me first. Sometimes I think, what are the odds? I almost want to laugh at the timing.

"Bailey."

He called me that, his voice as gentle as a morning breeze brushing through wildflowers—light, like the first breath of dawn. For a second, the world slowed, and I caught myself holding my breath.

"I won't fall in love with a butterfly, but I will fall in love with you."

But Julian, our ending was decided a long time ago. I know it, even if you don't.

I've read this novel, and in it, my name never appears—not even in the footnotes or a passing line.

And it isn't just me.

My father, the family's patriarch, and Victoria Langley, easily the most impressive person I know—not a single mention for either of them. Sometimes I wonder if the author just skipped the interesting parts on purpose. Not even a whisper.

Maybe I'm just too far from the original storyline. Maybe I'm so off track, the plot can't even see me anymore. I sigh, a little exasperated—what am I even doing here?

The first character from the original I met here was named Julian Hayes.

Julian Hayes—the male lead. The main character, the one everything revolves around. Meeting him felt like watching the story start to breathe. And yet, I felt a strange, nervous flutter in my chest.

I always remember the first time I saw him. It was early spring, the air still crisp and new.

Dogwoods lined the riverbank, white petals drifting in the breeze. He wore a relaxed blue-and-white button-down, standing beneath a maple tree. The wind tugged at his sleeves. When he turned his head, he saw us. I caught the faint scent of fresh earth and river water, and for a heartbeat, I wondered if he was real.

Falling blossoms drifted like clouds across the water—petal after petal. He smiled gently, his voice calling out to his younger sister: "Victoria." There was something in the way he said it, a warmth that made me glance at him twice, my heart skipping for reasons I couldn't name.

Much later, he stood on a small rowboat, reaching out to me as I hesitated on the dock, afraid of the water. The river shimmered, the air full of birdsong, and my hands felt clammy with nerves.

He said my name, soft as dew among the dogwoods. "Bailey."

He saw my hesitation, and for that, he was patient—almost too patient, really, like he had all the time in the world. I felt a twinge of guilt for making him wait.

With a tone like that, I couldn't refuse. My heart squeezed. I felt a little silly, but I couldn't help it.

I carefully took his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm, but never dared to fully step forward. My feet stayed planted, my body tense, my mind whirling.

He waited quietly. When I finally stepped onto the boat, he let out a relieved sigh and laughed again. "Bailey." The sound made my stomach flutter, and I almost smiled back.

I guessed he wasn't blaming me. Still, the way he said my name—like the wind stirring the lilies—landed in my heart and made the small boat rock, sunlight rippling across the water. I felt it, that strange, moving sensation I didn't want to admit.

I shouldn't be moved. I told myself that, over and over.

I knew very well I shouldn't get close to him. Not with everything I knew about how this story was supposed to go.

I've read this novel—a story full of suspicion and torment. The heroine is someone else. He's the male lead. That's just how it is, right? I couldn't change that, could I?

When I met him, his story hadn't even started yet. It was like I was standing at the edge of a stage before the curtain rose, wondering if I was supposed to be in the wings or center spotlight.

It was a family-dynasty intrigue novel. I knew he would become the CEO one day, but for now, he wasn't. He wasn't even the next in line—not even second among the heirs. I remember thinking, wow, talk about a slow burn.

Sometimes I wondered if I’d landed in the wrong novel altogether. Other times, I caught myself thinking, is he even the same Julian Hayes from the book?

The Julian Hayes in the novel, already CEO, was always angry, suspicious, gloomy, and reckless—he made me throw down the book and call him a madman. Honestly, I wanted nothing to do with that guy.

I didn't want anything to do with someone like that. I was determined to avoid him, so much so that even Victoria laughed and said I ran from Julian like a skittish rabbit bolting at the sound of a car backfiring.

"But that's my brother," she said, grinning. "Honestly, he's the nicest guy I know. You don't have to worry."

I looked at her and shook my head. Victoria was his kid sister, always the most likable—who could ever treat her badly? She had a way of making you want to believe her.

I didn't buy it, though. I kept dodging him every chance I got.

Who knew she couldn't keep a secret? One day, she teased me about it over sweet tea, right in front of him. I nearly choked on my drink.

I had no idea. I still thought I was being subtle, slipping around corners and keeping my distance.

The next time I saw Julian, spring had passed and summer hadn't yet arrived. I was sitting under the shade by the backyard pond, tossing bits of bread to the goldfish, lost in thought.

When I stood up, I saw him standing not far behind me. I didn't know how long he'd been there. My heart did a little jump.

He met my gaze and smiled. For a moment, I wondered if he’d been watching me the whole time.

We walked together, peony perfume thick in the air. My nerves buzzed with every step, but I tried to play it cool.

Julian wasn't much of a talker, but his tone was easy. Even when we chatted about nothing, there was always a hint of a smile. The whole scene was pleasant, but I couldn't help feeling a little anxious—like any moment, he’d ask something I couldn't answer.

Sure enough, he stopped. His dark eyes were sincere, his smile deeper, and he brought up what Victoria had said about me avoiding him. I felt my face heat up.

"Sorry, I just want to know," he said calmly, "have I ever been inconsiderate, or have we ever clashed and I didn't realize it?"

Being caught red-handed for disliking someone—I silently cursed Victoria under my breath.

"You've never done anything wrong," I managed, my voice a little too stiff.

I lowered my eyes, trying to hide my thoughts. Seeing his blue-and-white shirt, I flashed back to the first time I saw him in spring—he wore blue and white then, too. In the book, Julian hated blue and white. My pulse jumped.

I didn't even like the original novel. It was too over the top—the male lead’s emotions made no sense. I remembered he hated blue and white to a ridiculous degree.

What stuck with me most was when a new employee joined the firm. Just because she wore blue and white, he flew into a rage, and she got iced out before she ever had a chance. Harsh.

Looking at his blue-and-white attire now, I figured—he must actually like this color. The book got it wrong, right?

So was the novel just making things up, or did I completely misread the guy? Honestly, I couldn't tell anymore.

"I just," I hesitated, my mind racing, not even caring if my excuse sounded believable, "don't like blue and white."

"It's my fault, I've always been like this. The sight of blue and white just makes me uncomfortable," I tried to sound more sincere, but my heart pounded. "Seeing blue-and-white clothes always irritates me—I just want to stay away."

He looked at me, smiled, and let it go. I felt my shoulders sag in relief.

I thought he was laughing at my lame excuse, or at least didn't believe me, but he never pressed.

But the next time I saw him, he wore indigo, standing under the blue-and-gold summer sky, looking so grounded and real, like a figure painted right into the day. For a second, I forgot to breathe.

He stood before me in the sunlight, his scent warm—honeysuckle and cedar, the kind of smell that makes you want to lean in closer.

"Blue," he smiled, "won't make you avoid me, right?" His eyes sparkled, and I felt my cheeks warm.

I really couldn't connect him to the Julian from the novel. He felt like someone else entirely.

Victoria later apologized, grinning. "See? I told you Julian has the best temperament. I didn't trick you, did I?"

She kept dragging us out together, insisting that people need to hang out more to get rid of silly first impressions.

Gradually, Julian and I really did become closer. I found myself looking forward to seeing him, almost against my will.

The more I got to know him, the more I realized he was different—not just from the original, but almost the opposite. Sometimes I caught myself smiling at his jokes, surprised by how easy it was to be around him.

I remember going with them to the lakeside countryside, passing a vast meadow of tall grass—so beautiful it felt unreal. The horse's hooves clopped along, and I watched out the window for ages, soaking it all in.

"What's so special about a field of grass?" Victoria waved dismissively, motioning for me to scoot further in. "Put down the window. Isn't it hot by the glass? The sun's so strong."

At the lakeside, for the first time, he didn't call me "Miss Harper." He stood on the boat, reached out to me, and called, "Bailey." My heart skipped, my hands suddenly clammy.

His voice was so gentle, the way he said my name—Bailey. I felt it right down to my toes.

On a cool, windy day, Julian came to see me on horseback, this time without Victoria. The air was brisk, and I could smell the coming rain.

He sat on the horse and reached out to me. "Come, Bailey, let's go to the meadow and fly kites."

Maybe I looked too surprised, too delighted, because he started to laugh.

"Sorry if I was too abrupt. Are you willing to go with me?" he explained, kind and hopeful. "Bailey, on a day like this, passing by your door, how could I not think of flying kites with you?"

In autumn, we sat in a lakeside gazebo to cool off. On the table were all kinds of imported fruits, their scents mingling in the crisp air.

Looking at those clear, round grapes, I thought of Julian's deep disgust for them in the novel. I couldn't help but smirk.

I remembered CEO Julian hated grapes, hated people peeling them for him. Whether his assistants did it out of care or kindness, it made him cold—even the favored executive assistant wasn't spared. Maybe he thought it was gross or just too personal.

With a bold and curious heart, I decided to test him, deliberately peeling grapes in front of him. Afraid he'd actually get mad, I washed my hands carefully, paid attention to every detail, peeled a whole plate, stacked them high, and slid it toward him. My heart hammered as I waited.

Victoria sat beside me, fanning herself, chuckling and teasing that I was playing favorites.

He leaned by the window reading, the plate of grapes in front of him, looking a bit surprised by my offering.

"You're always reading," I said, trying to sound casual. "Give your eyes a break and have some grapes."

I waited for him to refuse, half-hoping he would, half-dreading it. Just a bit of proof and I'd let go, but I wasn't ready to give up yet.

He looked genuinely delighted.

"Thank you." He smiled, and I felt my heart ease just a little.

I watched his expression closely but never saw any hesitation or resistance.

"Do you like grapes?" I asked. "If you don't, don't force yourself. Give them to Victoria."

Victoria grumbled, clearly dissatisfied, pouting in protest.

"How could I not?" he said, a little surprised.

"If you don't like them, just say so," I pressed gently. "Don't force yourself, and definitely don't get mad over it."

"Angry?" He echoed, confused, looked at me, then smiled, helpless. "Bailey, do you think I'm a madman?"

He wasn't—but I was really afraid he would be. I felt silly for thinking it, but the worry still lingered.

He is Julian, yet not Julian. Sometimes I wondered if the book had gotten it all wrong.

He was too patient, too gentle. It made you want to see him, to be near him, to hope for something more. I found myself wanting to kiss him, to love him, even though I knew better.

I didn't dare to gamble, but I couldn't help thinking: if I'm the variable in this world, why couldn't he be too? Maybe we're both rewriting the story, page by page.

Besides, up to now, no other characters from the novel had appeared. The story hadn't started at all. If I could get close, why couldn't I change things? I started to hope.

I made up my mind to gamble one last time. Grapes or colors might be clues, but I decided to get to the heart of it. No more tiptoeing.